


Disintegration

by decadent_mousse



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Josh, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Verbal Josh, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/pseuds/decadent_mousse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh has a bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disintegration

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, [patster223](), for betaing this fic for me. You are a godsend, my friend. <3
> 
> I've been pecking at this fic for awhile and thinking about writing it for even longer than that. I've always headcanoned Josh as autistic, but I hadn't written something that addressed it directly, it's always just sort of been in the background of how I write him (and hey, people aren't always visibly autistic, or at least not always in the ways allistic people expect them to be). It's a very personal subject for me, and it's always kind of hard to put something out there that you connect to really deeply. But I also firmly believe there should be more explicitly autistic fic in the world, so here we are.

Josh knew from the minute he woke up that it was going to be a bad day.  He knew by now what it felt like, what the warning signs were.  It had a certain rhythm to it that he could probably keep track of if he could be bothered to write it down.    
  
So he did the only thing he could do -- he managed.  Medication took the edge off of the depression, at least most of the time, but it did fuck-all for the sensory overload or any of the others fun things that came with being autistic and on the way to having a meltdown.  He thought about calling someone.  Not Chris -- he was in the middle of class -- but maybe Sam, or Emily.  Maybe even Ash -- they'd bonded over meltdowns before, even though hers were mostly anxiety-related.  He wasn't even sure what he would say, though, or if he could even say it.  He fidgeted and juggled his phone between his hands, but ultimately didn't dial anyone's number.  
  
He was alone.  Even worse he _felt_ alone -- that deep, aching kind of loneliness -- and he was mad about it.  He wasn't a little kid, he shouldn't need someone to hold his hand through this shit.

He dug around in the closet for the nearest and softest hoodie available and ended up with one of Chris's.  The sleeves were too long and the shoulders were loose, the whole thing was too big for him, but it was comfortable and smelled like twenty-year-old cute nerdboy, so it would do.  He spent most of the morning pacing around the apartment restlessly, and the rest of it scrubbing down every surface in the kitchen so he’d at least feel like the day wasn’t a complete loss.  

It got harder and harder to find ways to keep his fried, overstimulated mind occupied as the day dragged on.  He was standing in the kitchen -- _again_ \-- trying to decide if eating something at that point would improve his disposition at all when he heard the front door open and froze.  
  
"Josh?  Are you home?"  
  
For as lonely as he'd felt all day, he suddenly had a strong urge to run and hide.  He settled for opening a cabinet and examining boxes of cereal so it would at least _look_ like he had a good excuse for not responding right away, shame curling tight in his stomach.

Chris's blond head poked through the doorway.  "There you are!"  
  
He was home early, and Josh opened his mouth to ask why, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth the words fizzled and his vocal chords just vibrated uselessly.  
  
"Hey, are you okay?"  
  
Josh shrugged and closed the cabinet a little more forcefully than he needed to.  He hadn't wanted to be alone, but now that he wasn't, he felt even more frustrated.  He was the literal definition of "fickle asshole."

"It's a bad day, huh?"  
  
He tried to find the words, he really did.  He almost felt like he could reach them -- like if he pushed himself just a little harder something in his brain would snap back into place and he'd be capable of basic human interaction again.  It just made it more frustrating when it kept slipping away from him.  Tears stung his eyes.  He wanted to scream, which _was_ still in his power to do, but probably would scare the shit out of Chris and wouldn't really help anything.  
  
Chris walked in and put a hand on his shoulder.  "Hey, it's okay.  I can talk enough for both of us, any day.”

He appreciated the thought, and the company, but it didn't do much to resolve the empty space where his words should've been or the frustration about it.

"Why don't we go to the bedroom?  We can just snuggle and pig out on Doritos or something."

It was as good an idea as any, and he definitely craved the company.  

He nodded.

When he climbed into bed, he immediately pulled the covers up around his shoulders.  The fabric was soft and cool against his skin, and he made an involuntary noise.  
  
"Better?"  
  
He nodded.  Again.  He was getting real tired of not being able to _talk_ .  He bit back a sigh of frustration and gave Chris a small, half-hearted smile.  
  
"Oh!” Chris exclaimed.  “That reminds me, I got something for you!  It was gonna be a surprise, for your birthday, but now’s probably as good a time as any to give it you.  I'm gonna go grab it, okay?  Don't go anywhere."

Josh snorted.  He was about as rooted to the bed now as he could be, short of growing actual literal roots.  He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.  
  
Chris went, and when he came back his arms were overflowing with blankets.  There were two of them, big ones, one with a fluffy underside that looked insulated and another that looked like some kind of quilt or something.

The fluffy one was a dark blue and the quilted one was a sort of blue-green plaid pattern.  He reached out to touch them, but Chris raised them just out of arm's reach.  
  
Josh scowled.  
  
"Don't give me that,” Chris laughed.  “Being patient for one second isn't going to kill you."  
  
It might.  He wanted to touch the fluffy one so badly his fingers twitched.  

He forced himself to stillness, because he already felt like a walking stereotype without adding really obvious stimming to the mix.  Several years of behavioral therapy was hard to shake, even in private.  He knew it hurt Chris’s feelings sometimes that he still held things back around him, but openness was not Josh's strong suit, especially about this.  
  
A second later the fluffy blanket whooshed through the air and fanned out across him and the bed.  

After a moment’s consideration, Josh grabbed it and replaced the bed covers he'd cocooned himself in earlier.  The fluffy side squished softly against his skin and tickled his neck.  It also made him feel a little like he was wearing some cool kind of cloak, which was a nice plus.  He felt regal.  Still a little mopey, but _regally_ mopey.  It was an upgrade.  
  
Chris spread the other blanket over Josh’s lap.  "Aaand this one's weighted.  I read online that heavier blankets can be more comforting?  I wasn't sure, but asking would've ruined the surprise and I've seen you pile, like, ten blankets on top of you before, so..."

There was something between the quilted layers that added to the weight, but he didn’t know enough about blankets to figure out exactly what it was.  The blanket was firm and, yeah, heavy, but still soft.  The resistance when he moved underneath it was pleasant.  It was restrictive, but not to the point that he felt like he was trapped.  
  
"So, what's the verdict?"  
  
Josh gave him two thumbs up.

Chris beamed at him.  “I’m glad.  Are you feeling a little better?”

He shrugged and made a wiggly hand gesture.  He let his hand drop onto his lap and gave the quilt a squeeze.  

“I’ll go get us some snacks.  I’ll be right back, okay?”

Josh bit his lip and nodded, watched Chris walk out of the bedroom.  

The blankets were nice.  Chris was nice.  It was all just… really fucking nice.  Tears started to prickle behind his eyes again.  He huffed angrily at himself and burrowed deeper inside the nest of blankets.  It was a damn near ideal scenario, but he was still exhausted and he still felt wrecked.

He really hadn't wanted to start crying.  Once he got started, he had a hard time stopping.  He wasn't graceful about it, either, he went full-blown puffy-eyed snot monster within seconds.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  The pressure felt good, but aside from that it didn't do a whole lot to stop the crying.  Why was he such a fucking mess?  He knew the technical reason -- had a bunch of psychological jargon recited to him by several therapists, neurologists, and behaviorists over the years -- but _why_ ?  Why was this so hard?  
  
The bedroom door creaked and he froze.  He didn't lift his head, but it wasn't like he could hide the fact that he'd been ugly crying half a minute ago.  
  
"Josh?”  Chris’s voice was concerned.  “Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes" and "no" wrestled around for dominance in his brain.  On the one hand, Chris and Josh had agreed awhile back that they would be honest with each other -- that Josh wouldn't hide it when he was having a hard time.  On the other hand, he wasn't very good at honesty.  It was a character flaw, right alongside his clinical depression and "high-functioning" autism.  
  
Finally, he shook his head.  
  
He felt the bed dip, and Chris’s fingers brushed his shoulder tentatively.  It was a question.  Chris was a hug it out kind of guy, and Josh wasn't always okay with being hugged, not when he felt like this.  Chris knew, and he always made sure to ask before a hug, in subtle ways.  Josh loved that about him.  He couldn't count the times his mom had dragged him into a well-meaning hug that had made him want to rip his own skin off.  
  
He leaned into the touch, not away from it, and that was all the invitation Chris needed.  He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close.  Josh let himself be enveloped in a warm hug, pressing his face into Chris's t-shirt.  He lingered there for a few minutes before sliding downward until he could rest his head in his lap.  Chris carded his fingers through his hair, rubbing gentle circles along his scalp with his fingertips.  
  
It felt so good.  
  
"I think you're purring."  
  
He froze, throat tightening.  
  
"Come on, Josh.  It's not a bad noise.  Have you ever thought... I don't know, you hold back a lot, maybe it would help to just do the things you're always trying so hard not to do?  Just let them happen?"  
  
There were plenty of things he thought about doing that he probably shouldn't -- even had the scars to show for times he had done some of them -- but he knew those weren't the things Chris was talking about.  Chris might even have a point, but Josh wasn't sure if he could just let go like that.  He was too used to keeping a tight lid on all of it.  He wasn't sure if he could loosen the lid without _everything_ inside spilling out, good and bad.  
  
He took one of the corners of one of the blankets and rubbed it between his fingers.  The side that wasn't fluffy was smooth and soft, with an almost velvety texture that made his fingertips tingle.

Chris's fingers in his hair sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.  Everything else felt like too much, but he'd been starving for contact all day.  The touch eased an ache he hadn't even really realized was there until he'd felt his muscles relax.

Chris was still talking, but it was indistinct.  A bunch of words he could technically hear but his brain was done trying to make any sense of.  The words were secondary, though -- the tone was soothing, and that was what mattered.

It had been an exhausting day, and now that he was finally starting to relax he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.  The world narrowed down to the sensation of the blankets against his skin and Chris’s fingers in his hair.  Everything else just melted away.  
  
When he woke up the next day, the world  was a little more bearable to his battered senses, but he still couldn't talk.  He decided to wash his hands of the damn thing and just ride it out instead of beating his head against a wall he was never going to be able to break down, anyway.  
  
Chris only had a couple classes, and when he got home they spent the afternoon and evening lounging on the couch watching bad sci-fi movies and eating a pizza he'd brought back with him.  Josh grabbed a small whiteboard they kept on the refrigerator to write grocery lists and repurposed it to write messages and the occasional penis doodle on to flash at him.

About halfway through the day after that, short sentences came back.  They celebrated with more pizza, and Josh kept doodling lewd things not the whiteboard until Chris gently but firmly took it away from him, scribbled smiley faces and glasses on all the penises, and stuck it back on the fridge.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone experiences autism a bit differently, and I'm not going to try to go into a big explanation of the spectrum here. Josh's experiences in this fic re: having a meltdown and going non-verbal were loosely based on my own experiences, which may or may not line up with other people's experiences. (Especially since non-verbal periods are, legitimately, one of the hardest things to try to describe. It ranks up there with trying to think of a good title for a fic.)
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who encouraged me to go through with the writing and posting of this, because the encouragement really meant a lot to me. This might not have gotten done otherwise. <3


End file.
